Surprising New Developments
by Dominatrice
Summary: Q and Bond have a good working relationship where snark, wit and banter abound. It's not really a conscious decision to test the limits of their odd friendship, but rather it's a culmination of idle musings, dangerous missions and a healthy dollop of Scotch. - Rated T for safety only. Completed Oneshot.


_Oh lights go down_

_In the moment we're lost and found_

_I just want to be by your side_

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

James Bond was a self-admitted oddity. He was a member of a rare and exclusive sector of the human race; one that flirts with death and courts chaos. Ever since his days in the Navy, James has known that he exists in a world not accessible to the average person. He is experienced in his way of life now, and does not often bother to wonder at the absurdity of it.

James spent years learning to slip through the cracks in society, to dissappear and reappear in the dark in-between of doorways and shadowed exits. Sometimes he feels insubstantial, like a ghost; he finds himself subconciously stepping around the cracks in the pavement, lest he slip away through one and never be seen again. It's a silly, irrational fear, especially for a cold-blooded assassin. But James knows better than anybody not to question too closely the workings of the human psyche.

After those eventful months that would forever be filed away mentally under 'Skyfall', James existed on a wave of purpose driven energy. He was back on form, top of his game, most legendary of MI6's agents. James has done his bloody work for a variety of reasons over his long years of services. Sometimes for the thrill, sometimes for patriotism; vengeance, anger, glory and even, on such rare occasions, love. One thing he will admit to himself, alone at daybreak with only the finest Scotch for company, is that no man is an island. However wrong the reason, he has always _had_ a reason to do his work. And now? Well, he can't figure that reason out; he only knows that it drives him in ways no one understands.

Such thoughts are best left alone, he is what he is - what he always will be - a man of action.

_/x/x/x/x/_

Tugging gently at his cuffs to straighten them, James stepped out of Mallory's office with his usual degree of quiet confidence. Bestowing a companionable nod to the ever cheery Moneypenny, he set off down the corridor, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he contemplated the contents of the slender file in his hands.

Forcing back a weary sigh, James forwent the elevator and took the stairs down to the basement where Q Branch was holed away.

Striding into the cavernous space, he spared a glance around, taking in the mandatory looks of interest he recieved from the various personel littering the space. Allowing himself a small smirk, he took a moment to let his eyes wander idly over the female colleagues huddled around one of the computer terminals. He was met with mixed reactions including (but not limited to) suprise, embarrasment and keen interest. Well, he'd be sure to correct 006 next time he made a scathing comment about the techno-nerds all being terribly cold fish.

In no hurry, James made his way to the furthest wall, where Q himself was deeply immersed in what looked like programming of some nature. Taking in the look of fierce concentration on the youthful Quartermaster's face, he pulled away a chair from an empty terminal and settled himself down for a potentially lengthy wait.

After no more than ten minutes, Q stepped away from his station, one hand running distractedly though his wayward hair as the other pulled uselessly at his cardigan in an effort to straighten it.

"007," he stated, green eyes meeting blue for the briefest of moments. "How can I help you today?"

James extended his file wordlessly, taking in the slight confusion on the other mans face, the minute hesitation before he accepted. Re-crossing his legs, James waited patiently whilst Q scanned through the contents in short order, the faint frown lines across his forehead deepening with every moment that passed. After a few minutes he snapped the file shut and gestured to his office.

"Would you mind steping inside, 007?"

James cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised questioningly, but complied silently, following the slighter man into the room and taking the only seat that would put his back to the wall. A habit, he was afriad, but not really a bad one given his profession.

"I didn't want to discuss the details of your mission in front of the others," said Q once the door was shut. "They're a good bunch, hard workers, but this particular one is a good bit above their clearance."

"Quite so," James murmured in reply, reclining casualy in his chair. With no small amount of interest he studied the younger man before him as he took a seat and re-opened the case file. Q was, put simply, something of an enigma to James. Young (but maybe not quite so young as James had first assumed) but brilliant; so fragile in appearance, but unquestionably strong of character. He was an interesting sort, and James was pleased to note that their working relationship had progressed well in the year following their first meeting. Their interaction was dominated mostly by sniping and verbal sparring, but it was all in good spirit. Besides, when it mattered - really, truly mattered - Q was a reliable voice in his ear, finding him implausible escape routes and providing him with, quite frankly, marvelous gadgets with which to do his job. Not to mention, of course, that he was quite an attractive specimen, if one was partial to overly slender boffins. Which frankly, James wasn't, generally speaking. A male boffin, at that! Still, James had always been fluid with his sexuality when the occassion called for it, and really, there was no need to to get hung up about this sort of thing at his stage in life.

Currently, Q was re-reading the file at a more stately pace, the long fingers of his slender hands tapping a stacatto rhythm against the oak surface of the desk.

"When Tanner told me to start preparing the tech for this assignment, I was certain I would recieve a message within a few days to tell me it was off," said Q quite suddenly, his usually crisp voice unusually flat and lacklustre. James sat quietly, staring at the dark mop of hair that covered the crown of the others head. After a few more moments, Q sat back in his chair and raised his face so as to return Jame's open scrutiny.

"I should have known that they'd pick you for this," he continued, his expression inscrutable as he clasped his hands in front of him. "This assignment is basically suicide, but if anyone has a chance of making it out alive, I suppose you do."

James felt his lips twitch into a humorless smile despite himsef. "Your vote of confidence is touching, Q," he said dryly.

Q opened his mouth as if he were going to say something else, and then stopped abruptly, the barest hint of pink suffusing his cheeks. James narrowed his eyes and studied him with open curiosty. Q was practically impossible to rile up, why the blush? Very perculiar, he mused, very perculiar indeed.

With no further delay, Q produced a plain black case that contained the essentials for his mission. James listened carefully and made sure to handle each piece of equipment on offer, running the sensitive tips of his fingers over the contours of the magnificently ingenius equipment he was to be using, wanting to get a feel for each piece whilst he still had the luxury of time.

Finally, once everything had been replaced, Q handed him the relevant documents, along with a suitable passport.

James checked that he had everything, nodded companiably towards Q, and headed for the door.

"Bond."

James paused, half turning to raise an inquisitive brow. "Yes?"

Q was leant gently against the desk, his elegant hands occupied with the unecessary inspection of his glasses. James caught the sound of a sharp intake of breath, and then those brilliant cat eyes snapped up to meet his own. "Do try to leave Damascus in more or less one piece, won't you?"

James grinned, amused at Q's cheek. Chuckling, he offered a cocky two fingered salute. "I never make promises I can't keep." And then he was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

Alone in the privacy of his office, Q dropped his head into his hands with a soft groan. Of all the things he could have said...

"Idiot," he snapped to himself, and then, more softly; "You _idiot_."

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

Q inhaled slowly, flexing his fingers gently before he lowered them to the keyboard in preperation. Resisting the urge to check his earpiece again, he cast a glance across the array of monitors before him, taking careful note of the human traffic flowing through the corridors on display. Movement out of the corner of his eye alerted Q to the presence of M and Tanner; of course, they'd want to be present for this.

"We're all set to go live, Sir," called R from across the room, and Q mumured his thanks. Nodding tersely to his assembled team, he turned the intercom on.

"007?"

There was the sound of even breathing for a long moment. "Q, how good to hear from you. I thought you'd forgotten about me."

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "Hardly. Don't be insecure, it's not becoming."

Q could almost feel Mallory's frown burning into the back of his skull, but he didn't care. This perculiar way of interacting he and Bond shared was familiar, easy. Already he could feel the nervous tension melting away to be replaced by anticipation.

"I'm going in," murmured Bond, and Q caught his breath as he spotted the agent appear briefly on screen via a security camera, then slip away just as quickly through a shadowed doorway.

"Right you are, 007," he replied, making an effort to sound cool and collected. "And Bond? Do try to follow your brief this time."

There was no answer over the intercom, only the chilly echo of Bond's quiet laugh before all faded to silence.

The next half hour passed in a flurry of muted activity. Q was completely locked into Bond's world, all but forgetting the other people around, except to snap out orders as and when necessary. At first, Bond had managed to skulk his way round the compound without detection, but soon enough there was the sound of rapid gunfire, and Q did his best to keep his breathing calm and even in Bond's ear as he listened to the other man dispatch his opposition with deadly effectiveness.

"The door you need is coming up on your right, 007," Q said evenly, his fingers flexing lightly against his keyboard. "I've deactivated the alarm, and the code on the door is C1467X."

"Got you," came the brisk reply, and Q held his breath as the agent punched in the numbers and then slipped through the open door.

"You've got approximately three minutes to retrieve the intel," Q murmured, striving to be quiet despite the fact he was a world away from the room.

Bond didn't deign to reply, and Q kept his eyes fixed on the clock as he listened to him tear through the room like a whirlwind.

"Got it," Bond said sharply with twenty-three seconds to go on the timer. Q let out a shaky breath and noted the cold tingle of sweat runing down his spine.

"Of course you have Bond," he snarked. "Hardly rocket science, is it?"

Bond's quiet laugh filtered through over the speakers and M stepped up to Q's side. "Your absolute perogative is to bring that intel in, 007." He paused for a moment, and Q eyed him out of the corner of his eyes, taking in the solemn expression and the deep frown lines. "If you are compromised, caught..."

"I know." Bond's voice was cold, empty. "Destroy it. Do not be taken alive."

M closed his eyes briefly, nodded tersely and stepped back out of the way. Q clenched his jaw and reajusted his glasses. He had told Bond this mission was suicide, but the man had an uncanny knack for achieving the seemingly impossible. He would make it out, and Q would help him do it. He would.

"Take a left Bond, and then a right. At the end of that corridor is a back stair. You have four armed aggressors coming up about a minute behind you."

Bond's only response was a grunt, and then they were diving back into thick of the action, and Q felt as physically strained as though he too was pounding down the corridors alongside Bond.

Ten minutes later and Q's eyes were large and bright behind his glasses, his heart beating double time as he feverishly studied the screens before him that displayed disjointed sections of the compound. "You're almost out, Bond," he breathed, fingers flying across the keys without conscious direction. "There's an extraction team waiting for you a mile north of the compound."

"Right," came the slightly strained reply over the comm, and Q frowned. Bond was superbly fit, he shouldn't have sounded so breathless, he didn't usually -

"007, have you been hit?" he snapped, trying to catch sight of the agent on one of his screens.

"Yes," Bond grunted. "Shrapnel wound, left side. Not serious."

Q felt his breath quicken. Not serious? By that, Bond meant he wasn't missing a limb. Maybe it was only a flesh wound, but even so, it would be enough to tip the scales against Bond's favour, to slow him down by a few crucial seconds.

The clatter of chain-link fencing forced his mind back to the moment, and Q watched as Bond hurled himself at, and scrambled over, the eight foot fencing. How he managed to navigate the rolled barbed wire on top was a mystery to Q, the man might as well have been a gymnast.

Bond was now pounding across the open ground, his legs like pistons as he ran for his life.

"You've got an armoured vehicle in close persuit," Q snapped. "I reccomend the grenade."

Bond didn't repy but Q saw him slide to a stop, pivot and throw a small object with deadly precision in one fluid motion. A moment later, the 4x4 exploded, an enormous fireball erupting above the scene.

Without having waited to see the results, Bond was off running again, one hand pressed to his left side. He was out of range of the cameras now, and all Q could do was listen to the harsh, accelerated breathing over the comm link, murmuring words of encouragement.

After what seemed like an impossibly long time (but could only have been a few minutes) Bond was picked up by the extraction team, and was being hustled into a car as a medical officer took immediate action.

"Mission complete," Bond rasped over the comm link, and then the line went dead. Q dropped down into his chair with a forceful exhale. Running trembling hands through his hair he gazed numbly at the scene of devastation painted across the scenes before him. He was distantly aware of M clapping him on the shoulder, congratulating him on a job well done. He caught Tanner's look of patent relief, and heard - as though through deep water - the sound of exuberant cheering from his staff.

Q's heart was still beating ten to the dozen, but the reality was starting to sink in. Bond was out. Wounded, yes, but on the way home. He breathed deeply, letting his body bring itself back down to earth.

"I need a cup of tea," he said idly, to no one in particular. "No, a mug of tea. A really, really big mug of tea."

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

James passed from sleeping to waking in the brief space between one breath and the next. He was immediately aware of a dull throb in his left side coupled with a strange tightness. _Stitches_, he thought, lucidity penetrating the fog for a brief moment. This was far from the first time that James had woken up in this situation, and he made himself focus on each breath as it came, allowing his body to bring itself into full wakefulness.

After a short amount of time, James was able to open his eyes. Harsh, white light assualted his vision and he squinted against the attack on his retinas, raising one lethargic hand to rub at his eyes. The pull of IV lines made him grunt with annoyance.

"Mr Bond?"

James pulled his hand away from his face and made himself focus on the hazy form by his side.

"Mr Bond, can you hear me?"

"Yes! Bloody hell, yes," James forced out, grimacing at both the distorted quality of his speach and the dry, tacky feeling inside his mouth.

A glass of water was proffered and, ignoring the protests from his bedside, James forced himself into an upright position, breathing through the wave of nausea and dizzyness with practised ease. By this point his vision had cleared dramatically, and he was able to recognise the nurse as one he had encountered in Medical before. Taking the glass with relief, he made himself sip at the liquid, instead of gulping it down as he would have liked.

"Thanks," he whispered as he handed the glass back, his voice gravelly from prolonged sleep. "How long have I been here?"

"Extraction dropped you off this morning, sir," she said with a sympathetic smile, busy checking his vitals and noting things on his chart. "They operated and removed the rest of the shrapnel and that was, oh, ten hours ago I should say."

Good lord, ten hours? Doing some quick mental math, James realised that he must of last been awake over twenty-four hours ago.

"I need to report to M," he muttered, tensing his legs experimentaly under the sheets to see how they were faring. He felt stiff, wooly, but at least everything appeared to be in working order. However, with that proclumation, the nurse's smiling demeanor was replaced with that of a severely miffed rottweiler.

"You shall be doing no such thing, 007," she said firmly. "Doctor Jameson will be along in a few minutes to check on your stitches. If you so much as _think_ about getting out of that bed before he says so, I shall give you enough sedative to put an elephant to sleep!"

James scowled furiously at her, too groggy to try charming his way out of the situation. "Now listen here," he said crossly, putting the full weight of his displeasure into his gaze. "I think you'll find -"

"Yes, I'm sure," she sniffed, sounding (and looking) completely unimpressed. "Oh, you Double O's are all the same, thinking you belong to some private sector that has it's own rules." She brandished his chart at him, actually making James rethink the wisdom of pushing her any further. "I bet you think we should all tiptoe around you, well I say not!"

"Are you quite finished, Nurse Smith?"

The new voice made James turn a suprised look to the door, although not quickly enough to miss out on the look of mortification on his captors face. Sporting his signature half smile, Q strode into the small room, his sea green eyes calmly taking note of the various machines and wires before they settled on James.

"If you'd like to notify the good Doctor, Miss Smith, I shall keep an eye on your illustrious charge for you, lest he attempt one of his escapes."

Still blushing, the nurse nodded quickly and slipped out of the room without further comment; though she did allow herself the luxury of a warning look in James' direction before she vanished.

"I owe you, Q," said James with feeling. "One more minute of that, and one of us wouldn't have left this room in one piece, and I'm not too confident that it would have been her."

"I'll add it to the list of things you owe me for," said Q with a small grin, pulling a chair up to the bed to sit on.

"There's a list?"

"Oh yes, quite. Including, but not limited to, all of the times I've quelled M's anger when you have deliberately strayed from the brief, and for your sadly tiresome (and untruthful) comments on my complexion."

James smiled and leant his head back against the headboard. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I argue?"

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, James surrepstitiously watching the youthful Qautermaster from beneath his eyelids. He really was terribly eye-catching, and completely unaware of his own allure (unless James was mistaken, which he rarely was on such matters). James couldn't remember the last time he had been genuinly attracted to another man, but he wasn't going to let it deter him. Variety is, after all, the spice of life.

"I came to enquire as to your condition," said Q abruptly, and James opened his eyes to look at him properly. "Considerate of you to time your wakening so nicely."

"I didn't know you cared, Q."

"Oh I care, 007," he purred, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the bed, a bare centimeter away from James' arm. James raised an eyebrow and stared back calmly into those dancing eyes.

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes, of course," Q continued. "I care absolute masses about the pieces of equipment that you managed to destroy during your sojourn into Syria. How you even managed it, I'd love to know. I could have sobbed when they brought it all back in pieces."

"Your concern for my well-being is beyond touching," said James dryly, rolling his eyes for good measure.

Before Q could retort, Nuse Smith returned with the doctor in tow.

"That's my cue to leave you," said Q, smiling politely at the doctor. The tips of his fingers grazed James' arm for a bare half-second. "I wish you a speedy recovery, Bond."

Before James could think of a suitable response, he was gone, dissapearing through the door like a wil-o-wisp.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

A week after the successful foray into Damascus, Q was able to leave work early (or rather, only a half hour late) for the first time since Bond had left for Syria. He was not much of a drinker by habit, but he felt he needed to go somewhere, do something, to celebrate - if only with himself - the success of a grueling job well done. Instead of hailing a taxi, as normal, he adjusted his messenger bag on his shoulder and set off down the street to a bar that he had visited once or twice since starting at MI6. The establishment in question had an unspoken knowledge of the clientelle is mostly recieved, and was the very word on discreet.

Stepping through the door, he was brought up short by the sight of James Bond tucked away at the far end of the bar. Q hesitated for a moment, contemplating turning around and walking straight back out. If he didn't go over to Bond, it could be misconstrued as unfriendly, but then again, Bond didn't look like he was in a frame of mind to welcome company either. Suddenly, Bond turned his head and Q was caught in the full beam of that glacial gaze. His mind made up for him, Q took a fortifying breath and made his way over to where the notorious agent was perched on his bar stool.

"May I?" Q asked hesitantly, uncomfortably reminded of how insecure he had been as an awkward teenager. Bond's lips quirked into a half smile, his foot pushing the nearest stool out by way of answer.

"Don't often see you in here, Q," remarked Bond, openly running as assessing gaze over him before he turned back to his drink. Q felt his breath catch a little as he studied Bond's profile. The man was not traditionally handsome, it was true, and those ears... but still, there was an undeniable magnetism about him. Q suspected that was what made him so devestatingly effective out in the field. And then, of course, there was that matchless physique-

"Q?"

Biting his lip, Q hoped that Bond was too inebriated to notice the dark blush staining his cheekbones. "Sorry, yes, no... I mean, I don't often drink. But after this week, well, I suppose I felt the need for something a little more fortifying than Earl Grey," he said with a self-deprecating smile.

"Well, in that case, Scotch?" Bond asked with a grin that Q might have termed mischevious on anybody else.

Several hours later, Q was what some might call 'thoroughly sloshed'. He could not help but congratulate himself, however, because the cloud of bitter melancholy that had been gathering around Bond's prominent ears when Q had first stepped into the bar, had quite thoroughly dissipated.

As he finished a long (and mostly nonsensical) explanation on just why Freud would have a field day talking to the agents of MI6 ("Because, really, most of us at MI6 are a barmy lot... it would be like shooting fish in a barrel for someone like Freud!") Bond rose from his seat and put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Time for you to take a taxi home, I think."

Q sighed and sloshed the remains of his (very much watered down) Scotch around his glass. "Hmm," he mumured. The truth was, he supposed, that he didn't want to go home. At least, he didn't want to go home alone. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so relaxed, so at ease in anothers company. Once they'd gotten passed the snark and banter, the flow of conversation between himself and Bond had taken them through a variety of subjects, and how they had both laughed. Q suddenly felt very sad at the thought that, when he woke up in the morning, this strange sense of comraderie and _rightness_ he felt in the agents company would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Not wanting Bond to catch wind of his maudlin thoughts, Q flashed the blond a bright smile and rose to his feet, grateful for the continued presense of the other's hand on his shoulder as he felt his knees wobble just ever so slightly.

As they stood on the curb waiting for a taxi, Q tilted his face up into the light drizzle, letting the misty rain cool him and clear his head a little. Opening his eyes, he felt his heart skip an unexpected beat as he registered Bond standing much closer than he had been a moment ago, the cool blue of his eyes fixed on Q's mouth.

In the half a second it took for Q to wonder at the possible ramifications of closing the gap between them, Bond took the decision out of his hands and pressed his lips gently against his own.

Q stood immobile for a further short moment, frozen. Luckily, his logical side chose that moment to clock out completely, allowing his body to take over. As soon as he started to kiss him back, Bond took over, dominating the kiss with the intent of an invading force.

When Bond pulled away for air, Q tried desperately to pull his scattered thoughts into some kind of order. "I want you to come back to mine," he blurted out, relieved when Bond merely arched an eyebrow and smiled. "But I... I, well..."

Bond reached out a blunt, calloused finger and laid it gently across Q's lips. "Don't worry about tomorrow," he said quietly. "Enjoy this moment Q, and tomorrow... well, tomorrow will sort itself out."

Q stood stock still for a moment, aware of the faint trembling in his limbs, the warm and steady pressure of Bond's hand on his arm. He closed his eyes, reopened them, told himself this was really happening.

"Alright," he whispered. No sooner was the word out of his mouth, then Bond's lips were pressed to his own again, igniting the fire in his blood, setting his heart to a gallop with the knowledge of what was to come.

Live for the moment... yes, he could do that. He could do that very well.

_/x/x/x/x/x/_

_Oh damn these walls_

_In the moment we're ten feet tall_

_And how you told me after it all_

_We remember tonight_

_For the rest of our lives_

_-x-_

_Wings - Birdy_

**A/N:** Hello! This is my first ever foray into Bond fiction. I had never contemplated reading into this fandom until after the Skyfall movie, where I just loved the on-screen chemistry between Q and Bond. Although very 'bromancy' in feel, I thought there was plenty of scope in there for a little more (if you have a pair of rose-tinted glasses handy, anyway!). I do hope you enjoy this, and would really love some feedback. I'm not sure whether I will write for this pairing again or not, and if i do if I might get a little more adventurous... who knows, it's all in your hands I suppose!

I also most candidly apologise for any glaring SPaG errors - I wrote this on WordPad which doesn't have a spellcheck feature, so I may have missed something despite many re-readings.

Thanks for reading!

Dominatrice


End file.
